American Idle

I’m not one of those water cooler evangelists who watches every show and has to talk about it at length the very next day with my coworkers. In fact, I’m usually a day behind everyone else since I have to go to bed so early. (I’m up at 5 because I have to be at the studio an hour away by 7.) Normally, I plug my ears and hum when someone comes running in to compare notes about the latest “Lost” episode. “Can you believe they killed Mr. Eko?” Fuck. Thanks a lot. Now, I don’t know what the etiquette is here. Is it my responsibility to steer clear of discussions about the shows I haven’t watched? Should people be required to give a spoiler alert? It’s a gray area. What I do know is that when it comes to reality shows it doesn’t matter. Nothing is being given away. Knowing what happens doesn’t detract from the overall entertainment value of the program. That’s why I have no problem discussing the first episode of American Idol 6 the morning after its premier.

Bottom line: It sucked. SUUUUUUUUUUUUCKED! For at least the past two years I’ve turned on A.I. with the intention of laughing at the tone-deaf insane masses who show up in droves. I plan on having a few chuckles at their expense and then tuning out when the group is pared down. The problem is that I usually get attached to someone. Last year there were two such contestants. I would’ve sold everything to move to Albemarle, North Carolina and marry Kellie Pickler. “Pick Pickler, Pick me!” I don’t care that she comes across as dumb or naïve. She was adorable. And hot. The other person was Bucky Covington. Bucky is from Rockingham, NC, just a few miles from Laurinburg where I went to college. I knew Bucky in passing. He dated a girl in my dorm and sold drugs to my friends. That was enough to give me a rooting interest.

There were no such characters from last night’s premier. Not a single memorable one in the two hours. Yes, the bad contestants were bad, but even they left something to be desired. For the first time the producers actually sent cameras out with contestants who didn’t make it. In the past if they showed footage of singers outside the auditions you knew they’d gotten through. This season they either wanted to trick the audience or there were just no interesting local stories of talented people. The first girl to audition took A.I. to the Mall of America where she worked at a Glamour Shots type place. Maybe she wanted a few more seconds of fame, but the piece gave the audience a sense of hope for her that was crushed moments later when we found out she clearly couldn’t sing, and that false hope was never reconciled by another story that ended with a golden ticket.

Because there weren’t enough feel good stories interspersed, the terrible singers were painful to watch. Where was the Elliot Yamin of Minneapolis? I can’t remember even the first name of anyone the judges put through to Hollywood. There was the Hispanic girl from Florida whose accent was so thick I couldn’t understand her. And there was the navy guy who sang Rascal Flats. Who else? There’s no way any one of those 17 people will win A.I. this season. Sadly, as bad as this episode was, it’s not enough to get me to stop watching. I’ll tune in for another two hours tonight for the 37 minutes of actual content. I’ll cringe for the bad singers and fast forward when Simon makes me uncomfortable. And I’ll be looking for someone to root for in Seattle.